


it's like pemdas, right?

by casualmarches



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Sickfic, as per usual, gerard is sick and frank needs attention, i wrote most of this in guitar class
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 06:16:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15924581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casualmarches/pseuds/casualmarches
Summary: "I'm not sick," Gerard says, disgruntled. "Just cold."He sneezes right after that.





	it's like pemdas, right?

**Author's Note:**

> i needed something cute to cheer me up so i started writing this on my notes app in guitar class because i am a good student who always focuses
> 
> plus i wanted to get some frerard out of my system

"I'm not sick," Gerard says, disgruntled. "Just cold."   
  
He sneezes right after that.   
  
"I totally believe you," Mikey says from across the room. Gerard throws a shoe at him.   
  
-   
  
"Okay, I guess I might be sick," he finally admits around the thirteenth sneeze. His nose is rubbed red and there's dark bags under his eyes.   
  
Frank lights up. "I have an idea."   
  
He immediately gets up and leaves the basement, and Gerard stares after him. He comes back ten minutes later with a bowl.   
  
"Not weed," he clarifies, and Gerard frowns. "Soup."   
  
"Soup is supposed to make me feel better?"   
  
"Duh. Weren't you a kid? My mom, like, always gives me this. It's fuckin' magical."   
  
Gerard begrudgingly takes it. It _is_ pretty warm, and it heats his hands up. He probably has some look on his face, because Frank grins. "I knew you'd like it."   
  
"Fuck - " He coughs loudly, all gross and phlegmy. "Fuck off."   
  
"Fuck cough?"   
  
"I will murder you with this spoon."   
  
-   
  
The argument has been going for half an hour.   
  
"Come on!"   
  
"No."   
  
"But - "   
  
"I'm sick and you _know_ your immune system sucks."   
  
"Please?" Frank pouts. He does a pretty good puppy face, all things considered, and it's almost enough to convince him. Almost.   
  
"You can't kiss me."   
  
"But if I get sick, and you're sick, it cancels each other out, like, that's PEMDAS - "   
  
"That is the stupidest thing you've ever said, and I'm dating you."   
  
Frank groans, throwing himself back on the bed. "Is this how you felt all the times I was grievously ill? I think I have permanent blue balls."   
  
"It's been two days."   
  
"Exactly!" He exclaims. "I am a growing teenager!"   
  
"Code word for sex addict?"   
  
"Are you complaining?"   
  
Gerard flips him off. He says through his stuffed up nose, "You can't kiss me, really. Your mom would kill me if I got you sick."   
  
"Fine." He grumbles.   
  
"Love you."   
  
"Whatever."   
  
-   
  
It's Saturday night, and Gerard has buried himself in an impressive bundle of blankets on his bed. Only his eyes peek out, tired and heavy, and he watches Frank look at the movies.   
  
"Pick a good one." He says, his voice still hoarse.   
  
"I would if you would give me more to go off of, dumbass." Frank shoots back, but he eventually picks one out and cracks it open, sliding it into the DVD player.   
  
The Exorcist. "I am actually in love with you," Gerard announces, and Frank laughs, climbing into the bed next to him.   
  
"I know."

Gerard usually watches this movie with the utmost attention, because it's a great fucking film, but he's still sick and slowly starting to fall asleep, the weight of his body wanting to drag him down to dreamland.  He yawns.

Frank shoots him an amused look. "This is how you _know_ you're not feeling well."

He doesn't have the energy to say something sarcastic back, and doesn't have time to even think of one before he's falling asleep. Right before that, he feels Frank press a kiss to his lips.

It's not necessarily unwanted, but he'll yell at him tomorrow.


End file.
